Eloquence and ‘marvelous’ marriage,
Stay quiet, sit still,
The embarrassment of sociability,
It makes me ill.
A façade that could charm,
The knickers off a doll,
Plastic people,
Exchange pleasantries;
So carefully crafted,
And re-drafted,
As not to offend,
But more to pretend,
That you, are one, of them.
Anyway, Canopies arrive on a silver platter,
Witticisms don’t really matter.
Open your wallet,
And true judgment occurs,
For then the Lady is not perturbed, and
She talks and talks of her,
Time share,
And her mish mash,
Of Red Indian trash;
You can see it clashes –
All those colour splashes,
But you’ve got to believe she’s smarter,
Artier, and a martyr for
Cultural innovation –
I withhold my reservation and,
Agree without hesitation.
Across the way, I hear
Patronising snipes,
And filial understanding,
“Back to the manor” a gent cries,
Two-faced replies to,
Pointless, trivial questions,
I try not to mention, that
It doesn’t even matter.
Take me away on that platter…

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